WTNT In LA
by Red Witch
Summary: The Figgis Agency is hired by Cheryl to temporarily run her radio station.


**The disclaimer telling all of you that I don't own any Archer characters is off listening to the radio. I also got this idea based on watching reruns of a fun show this summer. I'm living on the air in my imagination at…**

 **WTNT In LA **

"Okay Cheryl," Lana sighed as the Figgis Agency congregated in the bullpen. "What stupid pointless busy work do you want to hire us for **now**?"

"Have you guys ever heard of WTNT?" Cheryl asked. "The radio station in LA?"

"No," Cyril said.

"Nope," Lana said.

"No," Pam said.

"No," Ray said.

"Nope, nope, nope," Krieger said.

Cheryl sighed. "According to the ratings, neither has **anyone else**. That's why I had to fire all the employees at the station. Well the ones that were still around. Apparently most of them already left for better jobs so it's not like there were massive layoffs. Unless the new definition of massive is five."

"You own a **radio station**?" Cyril was stunned.

" _Of course_ she owns a radio station," Lana remarked. "Cheryl owns pretty much **everything**!"

"Well I haven't gotten any major national landmarks yet," Cheryl said honestly. "I wanted to get the Empire State Building but those assholes from the mayor's office wouldn't even **listen** to my offer!"

"What do you want us to do about it?" Krieger asked.

"I appreciate the thought Krieger," Cheryl said. "But that lady at the Mayor's office was very adamant that the Empire State Building wasn't for sale. And neither was the Brooklyn Bridge despite the rumors."

"He means in regards to the radio station," Lana told her.

"Oh," Cheryl nodded. "That makes more sense."

"So?" Cyril asked.

"So what?" Cheryl blinked.

"What do you want to **hire us** for?" Cyril asked, growing impatient. "In regards to the radio station!"

Cheryl explained. "I need you guys to help me run the station for a weekend until I can find either a decent buyer or a better radio crew. More likely a buyer. Because honestly that place is just a money pit waiting for a match to burn it down."

"What do you have now on air?" Ray asked. "Oh god you don't have dead air, do you?"

"I think we have some kind of filtration in the air system," Cheryl blinked. "I mean I admit it smells a bit rank…"

"He means," Lana was about to lose her temper. "That do you have nothing **currently** playing now on your radio station? Since there are no employees there!"

"Ohhhh," Cheryl nodded. "Oh no. I've got a country music record playing on a loop. By some artist named Cherlene. Ever hear of her?"

"She sounds vaguely familiar, yes," Ray sighed.

"Just so I'm clear," Lana looked at Cheryl. "You want us to run a radio station?"

"I think this might be fun!" Krieger said. "I mean I do have my podcasts. I could just modify some of them for radio!"

"I've always wanted my own talk show," Pam said.

"Me too," Ray said.

"It's one way to make money and hours," Lana admitted. "Okay, I'm in!"

"We could all come up with our own shows and everything!" Pam added. "This is so exciting! Who wouldn't want to be in radio?"

A few hours later…

"The better question," Pam looked around the dilapidated radio station. "Who would want to **be** in **this radio station**?"

"I've seen dungeons cheerier than this," Lana winced at the sight of several large spider webs in the corner. "And cleaner."

"I forgot," Cheryl said. "That is part of your job. I'm not asking for a super clean job."

"Good because you're not getting that," Pam said.

"Just enough to make this dump not look like a total liability," Cheryl said. "I am trying to sell it after all. All you have to do is tidy up a little. Put on a few shows and play some records this weekend so we don't get dead air while I'm selling this place. Oh, and find out who's sending in the bomb threats. No biggie."

"Wait, what was that **last part?"** Lana did a double take. "The **bomb threat** part?"

"Oh that. The station's been getting bomb threats for the past three weeks," Cheryl picked up a few letters from a messy desk. "That's one of the reasons some people left. If you could investigate them that would be super helpful."

"You didn't think to mention **that** in the beginning?" Lana snapped.

"Who would bomb this shit hole?" Pam snapped. "That's the bigger question!"

The lights dimmed for a moment and went back on. "This station is more likely to fall down on its own," Ray admitted.

"Who needs a bomb?" Krieger agreed. "A good minor thunderstorm could probably knock this place down."

"Must be a crank," Cyril looked at the notes. "I mean some of these words are misspelled."

"And this station is number 26 in a 27-radio market in this area," Cheryl added. "Not even counting Sirius because that's kicking everyone's ass."

"Who's Number 27?" Lana asked. "The Emergency Broadcast System?"

"No, that's Number 25," Cheryl admitted. "Number 27 is some pirate radio station in the Pacific somewhere. And it's run by a nut who's obsessed with some kind of funk music and shouts something unintelligible every other song."

Somewhere out on the Pacific Ocean on a run-down boat…

"KICK PANTS!" Simone, the incomprehensible transsexual screamed into a microphone as a funky record played. "KICK PANTS! That's what I'm talking about. KICK PANTS!"

Back to WTNT…

Lana thought aloud. "Okay so obviously we can eliminate rival networks that want to destroy the competition."

"What competition?" Ray pointed around him.

"I know right?" Cheryl snickered.

"Can you think of anyone else who would have a grudge against this radio station?" Lana asked. "Some of the employees you fired perhaps?"

"No, they actually took their termination pretty well," Cheryl shrugged. "Apparently some of them were making more money by selling crafts on Betsy. And one guy went up to Colorado to be a pot farmer so…"

"So, can you think of **anyone else** who would want to blow up this station?" Lana asked.

"I **don't know**!" Cheryl snapped. "I didn't even know I **had** a radio station until like a week ago! My company buys all sorts of shit that I don't know about. I wouldn't even know about **this dump** if Ugly didn't call me complaining that I need to take a more productive role in something, something…Blah, blah…"

"Are you telling me that your company just buys assets and properties and doesn't even **tell you** about them?" Cyril did a double take.

"Well they send me letters and e-mails all the time but I don't read them," Cheryl waved. "I've got better things to do."

"Yes, I imagine it must be tiring doing _nothing_ all day long," Cyril said sarcastically. "Okay so maybe we should have a game plan or something?"

"I've always been partial to Yahtzee," Krieger said.

"I mean," Cyril gave him a look. "Figure out who is going to do **what**. And what **programming** we're going to do!"

"Oh," Krieger blinked. "I knew that."

"Did you?" Ray looked at him.

"Shut up!" Krieger said to Ray.

"Do whatever you want!" Cheryl said. "I gotta spend all my time trying to find a buyer dumb enough to pay for this dump."

"Dumber than **you?** " Pam asked. "Good luck with that."

Just then the lights flickered on and off. "What the…?" Cyril looked around.

"You also might need to fix the wiring," Cheryl said.

"I'm on it," Krieger sighed.

"This is gonna be a fun weekend!" Pam grinned.

A few hours later…

"Okay I think we've got a basic schedule lined up," Lana said as she looked at a clipboard. She was in the recording booth with Pam, Ray and Krieger. "I mean we can't keep playing that record forever."

"Don't worry Lana," Pam waved. "We got this. This will be fun."

"You have a strange idea of fun," Lana looked around. There were wires all over the booth. "Krieger what the hell is all this? It looks like a dozen TV sets exploded!"

"Well I did get some wires from old TV sets just lying around in the junkyard nearby," Krieger said. "And a few other areas. But with a little tweaking we will have a state of the art control panel!"

BZZZT!

"Ooh!" Krieger jumped up as he was shocked a little. "That was a zappy!"

"You know where the fire extinguishers are right?" Lana asked the others.

"Right here," Ray pointed. "Years of hanging around Cheryl and Krieger have made us prepared."

"Good," Lana let out a breath of relief. "Now the main problem we have is our advertisements."

"What about them?" Krieger asked as he was tangled in more wires.

"We don't have any," Lana said.

"Cyril says we should just plug the Figgis Agency all weekend," Pam said. "He has a point. Free publicity."

"And this station is basically running on Cheryl's dime until she sells it," Ray added. "She's probably working hard finding a buyer."

Meanwhile in an office at the station…

Cheryl woke up from a nap at her desk. "That was a nice nap. I think I'll take another one. Was I supposed to do something today? Eh, it can't be that important." She popped some groovy bears into her mouth and closed her eyes.

Back into the control room…

"I mean it costs thousands of dollars a day to run a radio station," Ray went on. "Only a complete and total idiot would forget that."

"Hang on," Lana said.

"Yeah I heard it too," Pam realized.

"Oh right," Ray realized. "There is a **slight flaw** in that plan. Well we're not paying so who cares?"

"Great slogan. WTNT," Lana said sarcastically. "Who Cares? So according to the schedule Cyril is up first with the news."

"Cyril?" Pam snorted. "Oh, this should be good!"

"Cyril makes Les Nessman look like Walter Cronkite," Ray quipped.

"Come on guys give Cyril a chance," Lana said. "He may surprise you."

"That's what I'm worried about," Ray added.

"I'm here! I'm here!" Cyril ran in with several papers. "I'm ready!"

"This I **have** to see," Ray said to Pam.

"Guys come on!" Cyril moved them aside. "It's almost time for me to be on the air! I've got some great news stories!"

"Where did you get them?" Ray asked.

"Off the internet," Cyril nodded as he sat down. "Are you ready Krieger?"

ZZAP!

"Oh yeah," Krieger's eyes glazed.

"I can't watch," Lana groaned. "You two do it."

"This is gonna be good," Pam snickered.

"SHH!" Cyril said as Lana left the booth. "Be quiet! And when you guys are on I'd like to remind you assholes to keep your potty mouths under control! The last thing we need right now is for the FCC on our asses for all the crazy shit you say! And be **quiet.** I'm almost on the air!"

"Actually, you **are** on the air," Krieger pointed out.

"Oh! Shh…sugar!" Cyril censored himself.

"And we get off to a **roaring** start," Pam quipped.

"Now for WTNT News! This is Cyril Figgis bringing you…" Cyril paused. "Cyril Figgis. With the news. By Cyril Figgis. Sponsored by the Figgis Agency. If you don't have a clue, call The Figgis Agency!"

Cyril began the news cast. "Our top story comes from Washington DC. A senate panel is being put together to investigate the scandalous Long Water Fraud case. To find out the exact causes of it and who was involved."

Cyril blinked. "Of course, we all know that Veronica Deane was involved. I know that. You know that. Everybody knows that. And Stafford and Whitney. Those three. They're the ringleaders **. Nobody else** was **directly involved**! Except of course for all the people they swindled. Obviously. But **nobody else**. Nope. Nope. Nope. Just another example of the government wasting taxpayer dollars folks!"

"Let's move on to the next news item, shall we?" Cyril remarked as he went to another paper. "Fires are still raging on the outskirts of Los Angeles…"

Cyril paused and put his hand over the microphone. "We didn't cause **these** fires, right?"

"No," Ray shook his head. "It was some other guy."

"Oh good," Cyril let out a breath of relief as he took his hand off the microphone. "That's good! I mean bad! Very bad that these fires are causing so much property damage! Very bad! What's good is that they caught the guy who started them. Hear that? They caught a guy who did this! Whose name…I didn't bother to get."

"Investigative journalism has a new name," Ray quipped. "Unfortunately, it's not a good one."

"Turning to the weather," Cyril said. "It's supposed to be in the low 60's with a cool north east breeze with rain."

"Cyril," Pam said. "It's almost a hundred degrees outside. There's no breeze and there isn't a damn cloud in the sky!"

"I said it's **supposed to be** in the low 60's," Cyril protested.

"Excellent reporting, Al Joker," Ray groaned.

"We turn now to local news," Cyril said as he went to the next page. "There's a crisis at Bob's Buicks! We have too much inventory and are forced to slice prices…Is this a _commercial?_ Did I accidentally download **a commercial?"**

"You didn't **read** any of these news reports before you grabbed them off the internet did you, Edgar R. Moron?" Pam called out.

Cyril went on. "In other news, US military intelligence agents report that they are holding ground in the small country of San Marcos. And they have uncovered evidence that Gustav 'Baby Gus' Calderon was briefly overthrown before the invasion of the country. By an unknown dictator who is reported to have black hair with greying temples. Glasses. Kind of nerdy looking…"

"Uh oh…" Pam gulped.

"You know, this all sounds like speculation," Cyril threw that newscast out. "We at WTNT don't really go for that. Just forget I said anything. That all sounds like fake news to me so just forget about it. Just forget about it."

"If only we **could** ," Ray groaned.

"In other news," Cyril read another paper. "Scientists in New York City have discovered a breed of mice that have the ability to explode…You know this sounds like fake news too! Forget I said anything. **Fake news** people!"

ZZAPPP!

"Krieger! God Damn it!" Cyril snapped as a small zap of electricity shorted out from the control panel. "That almost fried me!"

"Sorry!" Krieger said. "I think I've got it!"

"Yes, but we don't know what _it_ **is,** " Pam quipped.

"Everything is all set with the control panel," Krieger untangled himself.

Just then the sound of a marching band was playing. "What the hell?" Cyril looked at Krieger.

"I think I may have wired into the sound system a little wrong," Krieger blinked.

"Excuse us folks," Cyril said. "We're experiencing technical difficulties. And by that, I mean our resident genius has **difficulties** using the technology!"

Cyril rolled his eyes as the marching band played. "And now an editorial by Cyril Figgis. Sponsored by the Figgis Agency. If you have nothing left to lose, try the Figgis Agency! What have you got to lose?"

"I take it that's a **rhetorical question?"** Ray snickered.

BBZZZAPT!

"God Damn it Krieger!" Cyril snapped as another spark went off. The marching band music went even faster.

"Sorry," Krieger fixed some wires. The marching band music stopped. "You're good now."

"That will be a first," Ray remarked.

Cyril looked at them and then turned his attention back to the microphone. "Today's editorial is on success."

"What would **you** know about **that?** " Pam snorted.

"A lot of people nowadays measure success based on how much money they make," Cyril spoke into the microphone. "How big their cars are. How big their houses are. In some cases, how many women they've had sex with. To me success isn't all about the money or the titles or the fame…"

"Lucky for you," Krieger spoke up. "You don't have any of those."

Cyril went on. "No, to me success is the little things. Like owning your own business. Working hard every day to make a difference in the world."

"Oh, you've made a **difference** in the world," Ray said. "Unfortunately for the world."

"In my case living my own life is a success in its own," Cyril went on. "I like to think I'm doing well…"

"I'd like to think I'm a size **two,** " Pam said. "Doesn't mean I'm right either…"

"I got an e-mail from my father this morning," Cyril said. "I've been telling him about my business. How I've worked hard to become the head of my own business. How I run my own business. How I've even gotten some small awards for my business…"

"You own your **own business?"** Ray quipped. "Gee I never would have known."

"And what does my father write to me?" Cyril asked. "Keeping in mind I haven't heard from him since last Christmas. And I've sent him about five or six letters and e-mails since then…He said…And I quote. The entire e-mail. Word for word. _You're still doing_ _ **that?**_ _Are you ever going to get a_ _ **real job?"**_

"Ouch…" Pam winced.

"That has got to hurt," Ray sympathized. "And I thought my Daddy was cold."

"Well guess what **Dad?"** Cyril snapped into the microphone. "I **do** have a **real job**! I make money doing what I do!"

"Whatever that is," Ray quipped.

"You think my job is **easy** hanging around with these lunatics all day?" Cyril shouted into the microphone. "Well it isn't! At least I **did** something with my life! I'm a lawyer/accountant/ head of a detective agency! I'm certified in **three** different fields! You barely even qualified for a superintendent's license and that's only because you knew somebody!"

"It is who you know for those positions," Pam nodded.

Cyril went on. "I've travelled all over the world! The furthest you ever gone was Orlando Florida for that Teacher's Convention. AND YOU DIDN'T EVEN GO TO ANY OF THE AMUSEMENT PARKS!"

"Really?" Krieger asked. "Not even Epcot?"

Cyril went on. "And I've done other things too Dad!"

"As well as other people!" Pam spoke up.

"That's right!" Cyril said. "I've had women that you could only **dream of**! So, which one of us is **the failure,** Dad? You or me? SPOLILER ALERT! IT'S YOU! YOU F ## ## ASSHOLE!"

"And here come those letters from the FCC," Ray quipped.

"With our luck they're probably the **only ones** that are listening to this station," Pam groaned.

"So why don't you take your self-righteous attitude and shove it up **your ass?"** Cyril screamed into the microphone.

"Krieger…" Ray sighed.

"On it," Krieger pulled out a small tranquilizer gun and shot Cyril in the neck.

"Damn it Krieger!" Cyril snapped. Then a happy look landed on his face. "Ooh…Birdies!" He passed out.

"That was the News with Cyril Figgis," Ray said as Krieger dragged Cyril out of the booth. "Newsflash that was also **the last episode** of the News with Cyril Figgis. For obvious reasons!"

"And now it's time for Poovey Talk," Pam said as she took the mike. "With yours truly Pam Poovey. Let's open up those call lines and see what you're wanting to talk about."

None of the lines were on. "Our phone lines are wide open," Pam added. "Like Ms. Archer's legs at a drummer's convention. Just give us a call!"

"And _what number_ would they call?" Ray asked dryly.

"Oh right," Pam realized. "That would help."

"You _think?"_ Ray asked.

"The number is 555-WTNT!" Pam said. "Remember. 555-WTNT!"

Pam paused. Nothing happened. "Do you want to hear that number again? 555-WTNT! Just call now! No waiting. Seriously. No waiting. Just waiting for your call. Just waiting. Any minute now. Any minute now."

Nothing happened.

"I know you're out there," Pam said. "I can hear you masturbating."

"Oh, dear God," Lana was hearing the broadcast over the intercom in the hall. "If we weren't going to get letters before we sure are **now.** "

"Okay I get it," Pam said. "You're all shy. I'll start. How many people out there hate their sister? I hate mine! My sister Edie stabbed me in the freaking neck! In the dark! How fair is that?"

"Not very sporting," Ray said.

"Damn right it isn't," Pam said. "So, if anyone out there has a relative they want to bitch about, call the number 555…"

Just then the switchboard lit up. "I **thought** that would do it!" Pam grinned. She took a call. "You're on Poovey Talk. Talk!"

"Yeah my name is Agnes," A woman called in. "And my sister is a bitch!"

"Tell me how she's a bitch Agnes," Pam said.

"She stole my husband and my tennis instructor," Agnes said. "And I really miss my tennis instructor!"

"Ouch!" Pam said.

"That is a ten on the Bitch Scale," Ray said.

"As far as my husband is concerned, joke's on her!" Agnes snapped. "I'm the one with all the money. He has to pay alimony. And he only likes fat women! Ever since I dropped fifty pounds he has no interest in me!"

"What's your husband's number Agnes?" Pam asked.

"Let's go to another caller, shall we?" Ray decided to move things along. "You're on Poovey Talk! So Talk!"

"Yeah call me Joe," A male caller said. "I got a real beef with my brother. He thinks he's God."

"That does sound like a real problem Joe," Pam said.

"Tell me about it!" Joe said. "He's not God! I **am!** "

Meanwhile Lana was listening in on a radio in the hallway. "We are so going to get letters," She sighed.

"And I know what you're going to say," Joe said. " _Well if you're God why don't you_ _smite him?_ I would too! By my lightning bolts are in the shop! Angels and their unions! Am I right?"

"Let's take another caller," Pam said. "You're on the air with Pam!"

"Yeah I have a complaint about my brother!" A teenager boy shouted. "He's a selfish complete dooty head!"

"GIVE ME THAT!" Another teenage boy shouted. "My brother is a dorky dooty head!"

"DOOTY BREATH!" The first teenage boy shouted.

"NO, YOU HAVE DOOTY BREATH!" The second teenage boy shouted.

"No, you do!"

"You do!"

"You do!"

"You do!"

"I know you are but what am I?"

"Disconnected!" Ray disconnected the call.

"And now a quick word from our sponsor the Figgis Agency," Pam said. "Don't have a clue? Neither do we! Call us today! We can relate!"

"I don't know why I always believe things will end up well," Lana groaned as she went on her way. "They never do. I always fall for it. Why do I always **fall for it?"**

Later that day Lana walked into Cheryl's office. "So, how's the great radio sale going?"

"How do you **think?"** Cyril pointed to a sleeping Cheryl. "We may be doing this gig longer than I thought."

"We're getting paid right?" Lana asked.

"Yes."

"Then what's the problem?" Lana asked. "Besides we're also getting hours for our detective licenses so…"

"Lana you can't get hours for a detective agency running a **radio station**!" Cyril snapped.

"You can if you're investigating a bomb threat at the same time," Lana pointed out.

" **Have** you investigated if there's a bomb threat?" Cyril sighed.

"Well I haven't seen any threats in the mail," Lana said. "Not that there was any mail in the first place. Unless you count flyers for a dry-cleaning service."

"It's probably just some crank anyway," Cyril waved. "Fine! If the building is still standing by the end of the week I'll work a few hours in! Happy?"

"I'm good," Lana said. "So, what should we do about **her**?" She pointed to Cheryl.

"I guess we should wake her up," Cyril sighed. "Why I have no idea. But I guess we should. But how?"

"I don't know," Lana said. "There's all this glue lying around and…"

"GLUE?" Cheryl's head went straight up. "Where's the glue? I heard somebody say glue? Where's the glue?"

" **That's** how you do it," Lana said to Cyril.

"Where's the glue?" Cheryl looked around.

"Where's the **buyer** for this radio station you were supposed to get?" Lana asked.

"How should I know?" Cheryl pouted.

Lana snapped. "You were supposed to find a **buyer!** Which might be harder thanks to Cyril's swear filled mental breakdown."

"Oh yeah," Cheryl giggled. "That was funny!"

"I couldn't help it!" Cyril protested. "It just happened! The power of the microphone just took over me."

Lana groaned. "Thank God Krieger had the power of knock out drugs. I'm amazed that tranq Krieger gave you wore off so fast."

"Either he gave me a really light dose or I'm starting to build up a tolerance," Cyril groaned. "Did you sell the radio station yet or not?"

"Is **that** what I was supposed to do today?" Cheryl asked. "Boy you sniff a little glue and down some drug filled gummy bears and time just gets away from you. Who's on the air now?"

"Krieger is on now," Lana said.

"How's that going?" Cyril asked.

"How do you **think?"** Lana gave him a look.

Flash cut to the control booth…

"THE DOCTOR IS IN!" Krieger howled as he played some Rush records. He started to dance around wildly, headbanging with glee.

"That's right! The Doctor is on call and has figured out what is ailing the good mental patients of LA! The diagnosis is lack of Rush! Fortunately for you cats and kittens The Doctor has the **cure!** Actually, I **do** have The Cure! And the Who! The Cars! Pretty much any band that rocks rolls in Doctor's operating room!"

"But right now, I'm giving you a prescription of kick ass Rush music! And don't worry about paying for the medicine with your insurance! I am distributing this music for **free!** With the aptly named title, Something for Nothing! OWWW!"

Lana, Cyril and Cheryl were listening in the office. "Nothing unusual so far," Cheryl shrugged. "Pretty tame by radio jockey standards actually."

"YOWZA!" Krieger called out. "BOOGA! BOOGA! BOOGA!"

"Is that a swear word?" Cheryl asked.

"Not that I'm aware of no," Lana admitted.

"Was he trying to say booger?" Cyril asked.

"Who knows?" Lana sighed. "Compared to you and Pam's little swear filled rants I don't think the FCC is going to care."

"NEIL PERT IS GOD!" Krieger called out. "Forget Christianity, Judaism, Buddhism, or any other -ism out there! The Church of Rush shall be your salvation! And now here comes… **The Antichrist!"**

"Okay they might care about **that** ," Lana sighed. "I just hope Ray's broadcast is a little better."

Flash forward to later that evening…

"You're listening to Night Moves with Ray Gillette," Ray said in a seductive voice. He was wearing a white leisure suit with sunglasses. As well as a white glove on his bionic hand. "Time to slip out of those work clothes and into a dry martini. Time to get your groove on and get it on. This is dedicated to that nice fellow with the soft blue eyes in the Men's Room at Pita Margarita's. Something both Rupert Holmes and I are in the mood for. A nice Pina Colada…"

Ray put on The Pina Colada Song and started to drink one himself. "I could get used to this," He grinned.

The following morning…

"I got you some coffee Ray," Lana walked in carrying a couple travel mugs. "Sorry you had to pull the night shift…"

She found Ray sound asleep in his chair while the music was playing. "Then again…" Lana groaned. "RAY!"

"WHAT?" Ray woke up. "What? Momma? Is it time for me to feed the chickens already?"

"No, they've come home to roost," Lana put down the mugs. "Did you sleep all night?"

"Apparently," Ray yawned.

"You were supposed to cover the night shift," Lana told him.

"Don't worry," Ray waved as he grabbed one of the travel mugs. "Krieger set up an automated loop so it played a series of songs without interruption like they do at regular radio stations now."

"So basically, you just put on Cherlene's album and took a nap?" Lana asked.

"Well I started off with Queen," Ray admitted as he took a sip of coffee. "But that was too stimulating."

"I suppose there's no harm done," Lana sighed. "It's my turn now."

"Do you have a format?" Ray asked.

"Just play some songs and make a few commercial announcements," Lana said as she took out a paper from her purse. "How hard could that be? I mean you slept through most of your shift…"

"If you want to take a break just push that button," Ray showed her as he got up. "That just goes right to a loop."

"It seems simple enough," Lana sighed as she sat down. "Pam's got donuts and bearclaws in the other room."

"Thanks," Ray said. "Has Cheryl come up with a buyer yet?"

"Maybe," Lana said. "She said someone might come in to inspect the place."

"Might come in?"

"She didn't exactly take any notes or pay attention," Lana groaned. "Or even say that this is a radio station apparently. Don't ask."

"I won't," Ray said as he left. "By the way Lana, the last song is ending so…"

"Shit!" Lana spat as she pushed a button and went on the air. "You're on WTNT. This is Lana Kane with your morning music. But first a word from our sponsors."

Lana looked at the paper. "First is from the Figgis Detective Agency. Call the Figgis Detective Agency for your sleuthing needs. We're almost as good as the internet. Yeah **that** will get us clients…"

"The next is from the Tunt Corporation…" Lana did a double take. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I'd like to point out that I did not write **this.** In fact, I had **no idea** I was supposed to say this on air. But since I have to…Just warning you…. Here it comes…"

"Give your money to Tunt Corporation and all it's products. I need money to buy stuff for me, Cheryl and/or Carol Tunt. And I don't want to work for it. You people are poor and don't know what to do with it anyway. So, buy my shit and give it to me."

"Great job Cheryl!" Lana shouted. "Really sensitive advertising!"

"See this is what gets me ticked off," Lana spoke into the microphone. "The One Percent just **doesn't get it.** They think they're entitled to everything with very little or no work just because their relatives actually **did something**. Or Mommy and Daddy paid for everything. So, they sit around sniffing their glue and expect everything to come to them!"

Lana paused. "I have to say this. It's this mentality of entitlement that I've had to put up with for years that has pissed me off. And it's not just the super-rich. Oh no. It's the fact that certain people get everything handed to them. And they don't even appreciate it."

"Like a certain boyfriend of mine. Let's call him…Randy. Which he is. In every sense of the word."

"Randy always got the best assignments. The best hours. The most money. All because his mommy ran the agency. No, not because he was **qualified.** Unless you count coming out of his mother's womb with a penis qualified."

"Randy had this expectation that because he was so good looking and had all these perks he could get anything and anyone he wanted. Like half the people who worked at the office. THE FEMALE HALF!"

"And stupid me, I actually bought into his bullshit for a time! No, I didn't condone it but I let Archer do what Archer always does. Run around and let his dick go wild! Actually, now that I think about it, part of me is **glad** that he's in a stupid coma!"

"The point is, I was stupid enough to think that self-centered asshole would think about other people instead of his genitals for a change. And we shouldn't be stupid enough to think that the people with power and money are just going to change. The only thing they know how to change are their wardrobes."

"So instead of whining about how **certain people** have all the power and make all the decisions let's **do** something about it!" Lana snapped. "Complaining is not productive. Calling each other names is not productive. If we don't like how things are then it's up to us to **change it!** And not go on and on about how unfair everything is."

"And yes, to people who know me I'm aware of the irony of **me** saying that. But no more!"

"The future is ours if we can count! Can you **count** brothers and sisters? Or however else you self-identify?"

"See they are counting on us to be divided. To focus on our little petty squabbles on what makes us different so they can stay in power. It's time to look past the differences and focus on what we all agree on! A better life and more money for **all of us!** Not just some of us! ALL OF US!"

"If the farmers got together with the electricians, and the plumbers, and the administrative assistants, and the receptionists and the clerks and the people who work in retail…If all peoples of color could work together…If everyone who felt overworked and underappreciated got together there would be **no stopping us**!"

"We do all the work while the people at the top get all the credit! Well no more! I say it's time for a change! And we can **make** that change!"

"The future is ours brothers and sisters!" Lana stood up and shouted into the microphone. "CAN YOU DIG IT?"

"There are more of us on Main Street than there are on Wall Street! Can you **dig it?"**

"So, I say let's stop pointing fingers and start holding hands to work together! It's time that everyone who works hard for very little say that enough is enough! I have had it! Can you dig it? Say it! I HAVE HAD IT!"

"So, let's take a cue from Twisted Sister! We're mad and we're not going to take it anymore!" She turned on the song _We're Not Going To Take It_ and started headbanging to it.

Until she turned around and saw Ray, Pam, Cyril and Krieger staring at her. "Uh, hello…" Lana coughed. Clearly embarrassed.

"Lana," Pam looked at her. "What the hell was **that?** "

"I think I just got in touch with my activist side again," Lana blinked.

"Either that or you were channeling the ghost of Cyrus of the Grammercy Rifts," Ray blinked.

"Not so easy is it?" Cyril said sarcastically. "Resisting the allure of the radio?"

"Oh, shut up!" Lana's cheeks turned red with embarrassment.

"Excuse me," A thin tall balding man walked in with a suitcase. "Is this the control room?"

"Yeah come on in," Cyril waved. He turned back to Lana. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"Oh, should I have just had a screaming swear filled rant at my father instead?" Lana snapped.

"At least Lana cut down on the swears," Pam admitted.

"Shut up!" Cyril snapped.

"Just pointing out the fact that you did pretty much the same thing," Pam said to Cyril. "Only a lot more pathetic."

"You know…?" Cyril shouted.

"Uh guys…" Krieger then noticed what the man was doing.

"Not now Krieger," Cyril said. "Lana you're supposed to be a professional here."

"Me?" Lana snapped. "When have **you** ever been professional?"

"You just had to go **right there** didn't you?" Cyril snapped.

"You went there first!" Lana snapped.

"Guys…" Krieger began. "The record has stopped playing."

"Yeah let's talk about the **record**! You are so quick to judge me but you always seem to ignore all the mistakes **you've** made!" Cyril snapped at Lana.

"I'm not the one who cheated when we were dating!" Lana snapped.

"I HAVE A SEX ADDICTION!" Cyril shouted.

"THAT'S NOT A THING ASSHOLE!" Lana shouted.

"IS TOO!" Cyril shouted back.

"IS NOT!" Lana shouted.

"IS TOO!"

"IS NOT!"

"I think the audience can hear us now," Krieger said. "And furthermore…"

"SEXUAL ADDICTION IS NOT A THING!" Lana snapped.

"YES, IT IS!" Cyril shouted. "AND THIS OFFICE IS FREAKING GROUND ZERO!"

"HEY!" The man shouted and then pointed to a device with a countdown on the control panel. "Excuse me! I have **a bomb** here!" He indicated a remote in his hand.

"Yeah **so** ….?" Pam began. "Uh oh…"

"I'm guessing those bomb threat letters weren't fake, were they?" Lana groaned.

"Oh, you deduced **that,** didn't you Precious Ramotswe?" Cyril snapped.

"Don't put the blame on me, Mancy Drew!" Lana snapped. "You didn't know either! In fact, you're the one who let him **in here!"**

"She does have a point," Ray said.

"You did drop the ball Cyril," Pam added.

"WHO ASKED YOU?" Cyril shouted.

"Hey guys the phones are ringing off the hook," Cheryl walked in. "Something about agreeing with Lana and inciting a riot."

"Way to go Lana!" Cyril snapped.

"How is this my fault when you didn't do anything?" Lana snapped.

"Oh right," Cyril snapped. "Just **blame me** and don't take any responsibility for…"

"HEY!" The man with the bomb snapped. "We're **on the air!** And you know? I have a bomb? Which I can set off using this detonator so…? Do you mind?"

"Yes," Cheryl said. "Who are you anyway?"

"Remember those bomb threats we thought weren't real?" Pam asked.

"Yeah," Cheryl nodded.

"They were," Pam said.

"Wow Lana," Cheryl looked at her. "I knew your segment was going to bomb. I just didn't think it would happen **literally**!"

"Shut up!" Lana snapped. "Who are you anyway?"

"I'm Cheryl!" Cheryl said. "That's Krieger…"

"I MEANT THE GUY WITH THE BOMB!" Lana snapped. "Who are you?"

"Bob Burnett," The man said. "Or as they know me on the air Bongo Bob!"

"They **do?** " Pam asked.

"Well they would if anyone **hired me**!" Bob protested. He shouted out. "You hear that LA? If you won't listen to me, I'll give you **something** to listen too!"

"Yes, and could any police officers in the area come around if you don't mind…" Ray spoke on the microphone.

"Get back over there!" Bob indicated his remote. "This is my show! The Bongo Bob show on WNPT!"

"WTNT," Lana corrected.

"What?" Bob did a double take.

"This is **WTNT,"** Lana said. "Which I admit right now is a very apt name but…"

"I thought this place was a little run down to be a successful radio station!" Bob realized. "So this isn't WNPT?"

"No," Lana shook her head. " **WTNT."**

 _"WTNT?"_ Bob blinked. "You mean that stupid station that's been playing the same record non-stop for over a week? The one with the country music singer that went crazy and burned a studio down?"

"Bingo, Bongo…" Pam said.

"I didn't even apply for a job at this station!" Bob groaned. "Boy do I feel stupid!"

"You **should** ," Lana glared at him.

"You should have applied for a job **here,"** Cheryl added. "You'd fit right in."

"I'm not **that** desperate!" Bob said.

Lana sighed. "So can you disarm the bomb or…?"

"Oh right," Bob blinked. "Don't want to waste a perfectly good bomb on a station that's **already** bombing!"

"Yeah take out the competition instead of us," Cheryl said. "That would really help."

"I feel so silly about all this," Bob went to work on the bomb. "Boy what are the odds that I try to bomb the only radio station I **didn't** apply to?"

" **Only** radio station?" Krieger did a double take.

"Yeah," Bob agreed. "Technically I haven't heard back from that pirate radio station that plays Grand Funk in the Pacific Ocean but honestly my heart wasn't into that one anyway. I just applied there for an off chance for a paid vacation."

"Just disarm the damn thing!" Lana snapped.

"Right uh," Bob opened up the panel. "Man, I was really wasted when I did this. This could be a problem."

"No kidding," Ray looked in.

"Ray can you disarm the bomb?" Lana asked.

"Uh," Ray looked at the mess. "I have no idea how to disarm this."

"Great," Cyril said sarcastically. "Nice to see those years of training in disarming bombs hasn't been **wasted!"**

"It's not my fault! All the wires are the same color!" Ray snapped. "And this is coming from a guy who's slightly color blind! They are all the same shade!"

"Yeah the shade of purple," Pam blinked. "You used all **purple** wires?"

"Yeah I did that on purpose in order to confuse people. Clever huh?" Bob smiled.

"Brilliant," Lana glared at him. "So, there's **no way** you can disarm or untangle this bomb?"

"Afraid not," Bob said. "I didn't read that part of the manual."

"Manual?" Pam asked.

"Found this manual online how to make bombs," Bob said.

"Way to go Stupid Internet," Cheryl groaned.

"Okay then," Lana let out a breath. "Then I guess there's no reason to **not** do **this!"**

WHAM!

"Folks Lana just decked out Bob the Bomber with a single punch!" Pam said excitedly over the intercom as Bob fell to the floor. "What a knockout!"

"Maybe I should **keep** this station?" Cheryl giggled. "This place is a lot of fun!"

"This may end up being our **last** broadcast at WTNT," Ray drawled on the microphone. "Unless the bomb squad can move their asses over here."

"Hang on," Krieger said. "I'm sure we can figure out something as long as…"

BZZZTTT!

The control panel just shorted. The countdown clock started going down fast. "The control panel doesn't short out…" Krieger gulped.

"Some improvements," Pam glared at Krieger.

" **Now** what do we do?" Cyril asked.

"I have a suggestion," Krieger said. "We should run. Really fast. Out of the building."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Ray said.

And they did. Pam picked up Bob and carried him on her shoulders. "Why is it we always seem to attract the nutjobs?" Pam shouted as they escaped.

"Just lucky I guess," Cheryl shouted as they ran.

"YOU PEOPLE ARE SO NOT GETTING ANY HOURS FOR THIS!" Cyril shouted.

About three seconds after the Figgis Agency evacuated the building…

 _ **KA-BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!**_

"And another career goes up in smoke," Pam sighed as the building burned.

Twenty minutes later…

"And that's what happened officer," Cyril described what happened to an African American cop. Bob was being arrested and put in the back of a squad car.

"Sergeant," The police sergeant said. "I'm a sergeant."

"Sorry," Cyril said. "I'm a little distressed. I almost **blew up**!"

"Sorry about that. We would have been here sooner," The police sergeant said. "But apparently one of your DJ's little speeches caused a small riot down at city hall."

"Really?" Cyril said casually. Everyone else looked at Lana.

"Every female, gay and employees of color decided to go on strike after listening to that little outburst!" The sergeant said. "The mayor is currently hiding under his desk. To be fair his wife is now part of the mob."

"Uh oh," Lana gulped. Cheryl laughed.

"What are **you** laughing at?" The sergeant asked. "Your station is going to be fined for all the antics and swears you idiots have been saying all weekend."

"Yeah but Lana's going to jail again," Cheryl shrugged. "So…"

"Hey!" Lana snapped.

"She's not going to jail," The police sergeant said. "Technically she didn't specifically **say** to riot so…"

"Lame," Cheryl groaned.

"You're just lucky our department is in the middle of some negotiations with the mayor's office for a better pension plan!" The police sergeant pointed at Lana. "This will work in our favor. Thanks Sister!" He made a power fist and walked away.

"Well all's well that ends well," Krieger said.

"How did _this_ **end well?"** Ray looked at him. "Explain **that** to me!"

"Well we did stop a mad bomber," Krieger said.

"No, we didn't!" Lana snapped. "That idiot blew up the building anyway!"

"So? It was insured," Cheryl shrugged. "No big whoop. And there weren't any employees left anyway. Shame no one was killed."

"Are we still getting paid?" Pam asked.

"No!" Cheryl snorted. "You let my building get blown up! There's no way I'm going to pay you for that! And you can't sue me because that's a legitimate legal excuse to not pay you!"

"She's got us there," Cyril groaned.

Cheryl laughed. "That's funny! I made millions and you idiots get **nothing!** HA! HA! HA! HA!" She walked away.

"God, I hate her," Pam narrowed her eyes at Cheryl.

"Isn't she your best friend?" Krieger asked.

"Which really tells you something," Pam said. "I can't believe after all that we end up with **nothing**!"

"I can," Cyril groaned.

"And I'm guessing we're not even getting any hours for this are we?" Lana asked bitterly.

"No money. No hours," Cyril said.

"No shit," Pam groaned. "We get the shaft again! And not the fun one!"

"Oh," Ray drawled. "I don't think we ended up that badly. Actually, if we play our cards right, we might come out of this situation on top."

"How could we come out of _this_ **on top?"** Krieger asked. "Explain **that** to me!"

"I got Cheryl's credit card," Ray showed them. "You know the drill."

"Tranq her up on glue and groovy bears and go on a shopping spree," Pam nodded. "Unless Lana has an objection?"

"No, I'm good," Lana nodded. "I'll get the glue."

"I've got a supply of groovy bears back at the lab," Krieger said as they started to leave.

"Another day, another potential career blown to Hell," Cyril groaned.

"Cheer up Cyril," Ray said. "Maybe one day we'll figure out what's the right fit for us?"

"I just hope that day comes before we end up in jail," Cyril grumbled.


End file.
